


Clean

by Mireille



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-11-23
Updated: 2001-11-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 02:09:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13777464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mireille/pseuds/Mireille
Summary: Lex, post-"Hourglass."





	Clean

**Author's Note:**

> All my Smallville fic was written during the first several episodes of S1. My love for SV burned hot and fierce, and burned out very quickly.

No matter how many times he washed his hands, he could still feel the cold pressure of her palm in his (and he  _knew_  she couldn't have been cold already, so why did he remember it that way?) He'd tried everything short of sandpaper ( _that was next_ ), but the stench of death clung to his skin, the slick wetness of blood still--

There'd been no blood. She'd had a weak heart, he'd been told, and this had been expected. No blood on his hands but the metaphorical. Except that he'd felt it,  _still_  felt it. And God, Jonathan Kent was right about him; he was just like his father, poisoning everything he touched. Giving an old woman a fatal scare. Asking Clark questions about the car until he saw the boy's eyes grow hunted and wary. Intentionally pushing against Clark's limits again and again, watching Clark bolt (only to return the next day) time after time, until the day the barriers would break and Lex would own Clark's secrets, or his soul, or both.

And that was just what he'd done this week.

He'd never be clean, couldn't undo the damage, couldn't stop defiling everything in his path. A true Luthor. His father would be so proud.

Clark found him the next morning, hung over from the scotch that hadn't softened the edges one bit, hands cracked and bleeding from eighteen hours of strong soap and scalding water. Eyes burning and throat tight because Luthors. Do. Not. Cry.

He tried protesting, but Clark ignored the scowls and the threats and even the single kiss that Lex had pressed against his throat (purely as a scare tactic, of course, and maybe not all the booze had worn off after all). Forced aspirin and water into him and sat, just a shade closer than Lex would have expected, next to him on the couch.

And, when Lex proved unable to fight the urge to rub his palms raw against the wool of his trousers (the blood was  _there_ , damn it, under the skin where it didn't show), Clark covered Lex's hands with his own, holding them still. Holding them even when Lex tried to pull away.

And Lex allowed it, until the frantic need to wipe them clean had subsided and he could draw a deep breath and say, "Your concern for my sanity is appreciated, Clark, but I think I'm going to be fine." Allowed it and was grateful for it, even though Luthors Do Not Need Comfort, because maybe he didn't want to be a true Luthor after all. Not if it meant going through life trying to wash the blood off his hands.

Clark had saved him before. Maybe he could do it again. Purify him. Redeem him.

He was certain that Clark was destined for great things as well. Together--what wouldn't they be able to do?

He almost wished Cassandra had been able to tell him what she'd seen, just to set him on the right path. Then again, he'd said he didn't need a road map, and he didn't.

Not when he had Clark to save him from himself.

**Author's Note:**

> [me on tumblr](https://mireille719.tumblr.com)


End file.
